Arabella
by KareninaCrawley
Summary: When Mary's daughter is stillborn there in only one man there for her. Set post Season Six finale.
1. Chapter 1

Arabella

 **A.N: Hello to both new and old readers! This story was based on Jacqueline Kennedy's experience with a stillbirth. Her husband was in Europe on holiday when she gave birth to a stillborn daughter that she had planned to call Arabella. With Jack abroad, the task of informing Jackie fell to her brother-in-law, Bobby Kennedy. Some say that the two later went on to have an affair that began after the president's assassination and ended with RFK's. I am a huge fan of Jackie and if you are also interested in her you can follow my Instagram, . I hope that you enjoy this story, please leave a review if you do.**

"Where's Henry?" Mary asked groggily, noting that the figure with his head in his hands was not her husband. She tried to sit up but abandoned the idea when a searing pain shot across her stomach.

"Mary!" Tom exclaimed, evidently relieved. Answering her her query, he said carefully: "I've tried to call him at his hotel but apparently he's out."

The expression on Tom's face told her that she had bigger problems than a missing husband. Slowly and in a soft, almost childlike voice she asked: "Where's my baby?"

He took her hand, averting her questioning gaze.

"Tom?" She pleaded as he looked up. Only then did she see the tears in his eyes.

"I'm so sorry Mary." He croaked, squeezing her limp hand. "The baby died."

Mary's stomach plummeted and a single tear rolled down her porcelain cheek. She thought she'd be used to pain, but this grief was different. This was her child.

"She didn't suffer, she never even took her first breath."

"She? It was a girl?"

Tom nodded as Mary began to cry in earnest. Taking her in his arms, he reassured her that all would be well.

"Arabella." She sobbed into his chest.

▫️

"What can I do, Tom? The child's dead."

Tom let all of the anger that he had built up towards Henry spill forth and he shouted down the telephone.

"Listen to me." He snarled into the mouthpiece. "You get back here today or don't bother returning at all."

"Are you speaking for my wife?" Henry asked with an air of proprietorship.

"I'm speaking for a friend who just lost her baby."

"Tell her I'll be there in a day or two. I can't abandon the team now."

With that, the line went dead and Tom flung the telephone back onto the bench, startling a nurse who happened to be walking by.

▫️

When he returned to Mary's bedside, she was staring intently to her right.

"I'm cursed, Tom." She whispered, having heard his footsteps, but not moving to look at him. "Matthew told me once that it was the pair of us, but now I know that it's just me."

"You're not cursed Mary. You've had your fair share of bad luck, but that's not a curse."

"I have this, this pain across here." Mary motioned towards her lower abdomen.

"You had to have a caesarean. After you collapsed in the library, it triggered an early labour and since you were drifting in and out of consciousness you weren't able to give birth naturally."

She was still looking to her right as she nodded, her brows furrowed.

"Would she have lived, had I been able to?"

"No, they say that she had been- that she was always going to be stillborn."

"Why did they put me in this room?" She asked, and suddenly Tom realised that this must have been the room where Mary had introduced Matthew to George. The only time that they had been a family.

"Matthew stood there." Mary pointed with an unsteady hand and Tom wondered how strong her medication was.

"I'll have you moved." He made to leave but he was stopped by a stern "No!"

"I was the happiest I ever was and ever will be again in this room. I'm staying."


	2. Chapter 2

That night, Tom stayed by Mary's bedside, unwilling and unable to leave her. He had informed the family, who were visiting Edith, who had recently given birth to a baby boy.

"Tom?" Mary called, turning to face him. "Have you seen her?"

He nodded, his expression soft. "Would you like to?"

Mary thought for what seemed like an eternity. Did she want to see her baby? If she did it would surely haunt her. However, if she didn't, the result would be the same.

"I think I would, to say hello, and goodbye."

"Get some rest." Tom advised gently, checking his watch and noting that it was a little after midnight. "I'll bring her to you in the morning."

▫️

Tom stared at the minuscule bundle wrapped in a blanket before placing her in her mother's arms.

"She's so cold." Mary spoke softly, as though her daughter was merely sleeping.

"Do you want to be alone?" He asked, reluctant to leave her. When she shook her head, still marvelling at Arabella, he sat on a chair beside her.

"How can she be so perfect? It isn't fair."

Mary traced the baby's lips with her finger and then caressed her cheek and eyelashes and then placed a kiss on her small forehead. She committed every inch of her daughter's face to memory, taking in her dark hair and pale skin.

"Have you- Would you be able to organise a burial for her?" Mary asked, her eyes still locked on her daughter.

"I have it organised for later today. She was christened shortly after she was born."

"Her headstone is to say Arabella, only Arabella."

Tom was shocked and looked up at Mary, his mouth agape.

"What will Henry say?"

"Quite frankly, I don't care what he says, or thinks, or does." She responded with a tone of finality. "Have you seen the paper?" Mary added, nodding towards the side table.

Tom took it and could not believe his eyes. Written in large bold print were the words: "The race car driver and the ladies."

"I'll wring his neck!" Tom declared, fuming.

"You will do no such thing. I won't have you thrown in prison. I've lost too many people."

Mary returned her gaze to her daughter and began to cry.

"I can't let her go Tom. I know I must, but I can't."

He moved to sit on the bed and placed a strong arm around her, hugging her close.

"It'll be harder the longer you leave it." He whispered after a while.

Mary dried her eyes and adjusted her daughter's blanket, speaking to her softly.

"Goodbye, my darling."

Having kissed Arabella's forehead once more and wet her skin with her tears, Mary handed her to Tom for the first and final time.

He took her quickly and left the room. The shut door did nothing to diminish Mary's heaving sobs. It took everything he had in that moment not to return to her side. But he knew that returning with Arabella would only make things worse.

▫️

Isobel, Lord Merton, Cora and Robert joined Tom for the burial. Mary's parents had rushed from the station to the graveyard just to be there. Cora had been in years the entire time and even Robert appeared shaken.

Tom grimaced as he saw the baby's minute coffin being placed into position. Coffins shouldn't come in that size.

"What is the child's name?" Mr Travis asked as he was about to begin.

"Arabella." Tom announced. "Her name is Arabella."

 **A.N: Thank you for all of your kind reviews, they are most encouraging. I promise that the story will become happier as time goes on! I noticed that my Instagram did not show up properly in my last author's note but if you search Elegance Personified, mine is the one with a black and white Jackie Kennedy set against a pale blue background.**

 **Please continue reviewing!**

 **Until next time ,**

 **K. Xxx**


	3. Chapter 3

Cora had joined Tom's vigil at Mary's bedside. She knew exactly how her daughter was feeling.

They had stayed by her side for two days straight before Mary finally sent them to the Abbey to get some rest.

"Go, I'm just lying here anyway." She implored them.

"I'll be back this evening." Tom promised, stifling a yawn.

▫️

Roughly an hour following their departure, there was a knock on the door.

"Tom," Mary chastised. "I told you to get some rest."

"I'm sorry to disappoint." Came an unwelcome voice.

It was Henry.

He made his way to the chair frequented by Tom. It made her skin crawl to see her husband, and not her friend in that seat.

"Are you not happy to see me?" He asked when she turned away from his kiss.

"Happy? How could I possibly be happy?"

"Darling, there'll be more babies. Don't mind this hiccough."

His words repulsed her, she physically recoiled as he made to move closer to her.

"There'll be no more babies for me." She told him disdainfully.

"What does that mean?" Henry's voice conveyed panic and anger while her knuckles were white as she clutched the bed sheet.

"It wouldn't do to have a child out of wedlock."

He stood at that and began to began to pace.

"I won't give you a divorce Mary."

She looked at her husband with an expression of sheer defiance.

"But it's not yours to give, it's mine to take. You abandoned me during one of the lowest periods of my life."

Henry rushed over to her and grabbed her hands, and began to spout off an apology that was so obviously rehearsed it sickened her.

"We can do this quietly or we can ruin one another. I have the power and the motive to destroy you, Henry."

He looked up at her, shocked etched upon his face.

"Do you think I'd miss an article about my husband in the paper?"

"It's just gossip!" Came a high pitched voice.

"Go quietly, Henry, and there will be money in it for you."

Mary knew that he was broke and how much it would take to buy her freedom.

Smoothing the sheet on her bed, the floral pattern so familiar to her now, she added: "We were never going to work."

Henry stood and made to leave, his shoulders sagging.

"I loved you, Mary." He whispered. "More than you know, and certainly more than you ever loved me."

"That seems to be the universal parting phrase." She muttered, remembering Richard Carlisle.

"Goodbye Henry. My solicitor will be in touch."

▫️

Tom returned as Mary's dinner tray was delivered. It still pained her to sit up, or to move much, but she felt weightless.

Mary Crawley was free.

"You look much better!" A relieved Tom beamed as her took his rightful seat.

"I had an eventful afternoon." She smiled at his jovial expression. "How does this sound? Lady Mary Crawley, the first Crawley to divorce."

Tom was dumbfounded and let his jaw drop.

"Henry was here?"

She nodded.

"You asked him for a divorce?"

She grinned as he laughed before she finally joined him. It felt good to laugh, but she felt profound guilt too and so stopped almost instantly.

A few seconds later, Tom grew sombre.

"I could have spared you all of this if I hadn't pushed to towards-"

"Nonsense." She cut across his apology. "You thought I loved him and acted in my best interests, as a friend should."

He took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly, happy to note that it no longer hung limp.

"I'll always be your friend, Mary."

"Good, because I'll need someone to lean on when everyone abandons me."

Tom rolled his eyes an stole a carrot from Mary's plate.

"Who's everyone going to side with, Mary? The driver or the eldest daughter of an Earl?"

"I suppose you're right. Now that's my dinner." She playfully slapped his hand away as he made to carry out another theft.


	4. Chapter 4

Mary found herself walking almost desperately, day in, day out. She would wander far from the main house at daybreak and return at the tolling of the dinner gong. Weeks turned to months and she slowly began to return home earlier, she began to sleep once more, and she worked harder than she had thought possible of herself. Arabella rarely occupied her thoughts, and Henry was now only a name on the divorce papers. Cruel as it sounded, and though she longed for her daughter, the living clung to her now. George had turned seven which meant that she had been without the one man that truly ever loved her for her for almost a decade.

"I cannot hear Matthew's voice anymore." She whispered as she sat alongside Tom by the fire one evening, the rest of the family having retreated to their rooms for the night.

"You've been through a lot, that's to be expected. I still hear Sybil but I have Sybbie to thank for that."

Tom's daughter did indeed share her mother's breathy voice and the passion that could be heard when she spoke even of the most insignificant of matters. George, dear blonde haired George, his father's image in all but the deep brown eyes that were so wholly Mary, George sounded like his Grandfather.

Mary did not appear anguished as she spoke these words, her voice clear, proud and cutting. She shocked Tom profoundly as she retrieved a lighter and a packet of cigarettes from her purse, offering him one simultaneously. Taking it almost imperceptibly eagerly, Tom inhaled deeply and lay back against the crimson sofa.

"I'd ask when you developed so delightful a habit but it would be best if I saved myself the trouble, wouldn't it?"

Mary had become more difficult to read these past few months and as he had once prided himself on calculating her every mood, he found that he had not the energy. Mary Crawley was her own woman, and Tom Branson knew that he had to leave her to her independence.

"There is only one thing better than the cloudiness that these wonders generate and Doctor Clarkson has expressly forbidden it. For now, cigarettes shall suffice."

"He doesn't want you to fall pregnant again?"

"Tom Branson, if I ever come to you engaged and pregnant again you have my full permission to throw me off a cliff. I say, there will be no more marriages." Blowing the smoke into the air above her small frame, Mary shut her eyes against the tears that threatened to spill over. The law of the land would forbid her from remarrying anyway, no matter how much she wished it.

"I never really saw you as the marrying sort anyway. And no, that is not a euphemism!" he interjected as he saw her black eyebrows narrow and a slight wrinkle appear on her pale forehead. "Your not someone who needs a husband to derive self-worth, or position or money. You're Lady Mary Crawley, née Crawley," Mary chuckled slightly and allowed him a smile. "and the Mary I know allows nobody to tell them who she is. Losing your baby does not define you either, and I know that you have been punishing yourself. No, Mary," he held up his hand as she made to leave, knowing what was to come next. "Mary, you need to eat."

Mary had always been thin, it had been her trademark. This was different. She was skeletal. Mary rarely ate any meals and the ones she did consisted of fruit and very little that would truly sustain her. That was why any drink went to her head and any cigarette filled her stomach. Tom knew that this was a by-product of Henry, a remnant of a man of fashion who sought only to destroy what was once so beautiful. Her once full cheeks sagged and lay under dark shadows which eternally accompanied her eyes. She moved as though each step caused her pain and he worried that her scar had yet to heal. However, it was her arms that scared him most. He could probably make a circle with his index finger and thumb and asked her to slip her arm through it, and she would have room to spare.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I must say, I am dreadfully tired, anon, dear Tom."

And so she fled, into the night.

She did not greet him as she walked into breakfast, but he noted that she loaded her plate with eggs and bread, bacon and sausages. She sat down before him and ate, slowly and pointedly. But she ate nonetheless. Robert looked at him from behind his newspaper and winked his gratitude. It was not much, and Tom doubted that one stern talk from him would cure her, if it was even something to be cured.

"Murray has the last of the papers today, Papa. I think I shall treat myself to a nice trip this summer, with the children."

"What, Sybbie too?" Tom asked, royally confused.

"You can join us if it poses a problem."

"Is that wise?"

"A divorced woman and her brother-in-law? I'm afraid it takes far more to shock the French, dear Tom."

Mary stood, her plate empty and her cheeks flushed pink.

"Come, Tom. We have work to do."

"No walk?"

"No, not today."

They reached the office following a companionable stroll, though it worried Tom that no words were spoken. And he had reason to worry, for as soon as they were safely ensconced in their shared office, the entirety of her rage erupted from her small frame.

"How dare you!" she snarled, throwing off her hat and coat. "You have no right to comment on my life!"

"Really? Well I do apologise for worrying about one of my closest friends. You know I saw you on what I can only describe as your deathbed. Blood stained sheets and the palest face I have ever known. I saw that face again last night."

"I am not your wife, my body is not yours to pass comment on." Her voice was rising now and her cheeks flared red.

"No, you are no wife of mine. But you are the only mother figure that my daughter will ever know. You need to be here for her."

"Please," Mary scoffed, turning her back on him. "One of your little politicos will be along shortly."

He grabbed her arm and then quickly pulled himself back.

"Why a trip Mary? Why do we have to run off together?" his anger dissipated as confusion took over, and then she cried. Sobs wracked her frame as he pulled her into the warmest of embraces.

"I'm so sorry. Forgive me." She croaked as she wet his suit with the salt of her tears.


End file.
